


The Alþingi

by Philosophizes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Magic, Supporting Humans - Freeform, fanfic of a fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosophizes/pseuds/Philosophizes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nordics take a break from their governments, Wizarding and not, by intruding on Iceland's for the day.</p><p>A Harry Potter crossover only in technicality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Alþingi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sunruner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunruner/gifts).



> This fanfiction is set in Sunruner's Snakeskins universe, found on [FFN](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9659426/1/Snakeskins) and more completely on [Tumblr](http://lsunnyc.tumblr.com/post/59114629055/snakeskins-pt-1-pottertalia-x-over).

Iceland was doing his best to get ready.

He was hosting, so should he use his best robes? Or would that be too much like upstaging his brothers- his guests- so should he tone it down some?

“What do you think, Flóki?”

His puffin made the growl-moan of its wild cousins at him.

“Not _you,_ ” Iceland sighed.

The raven sitting on his bedpost squawked at him.

“You’re no help.”

He finally settled on his best robes- if the rest of the Nordics didn’t like it, they could deal, this was _his_ country and _he_ was hosting- barely a few minutes before the scheduled arrival time of his brothers. It was a testament to how many times he wore a _hátíðarbúningur_ to formal events that he was able to quickly get the double-row of silver buttons fastened and arranged.

Unfortunately, Iceland mixed himself up trying to pull the bright red robe on at the same time that he was tugging the matching tail-cap on with the other hand, and Flóki put up a raucous cacophony of cawing as the _crack-crack-crack_ of three apparations in quick succession signaled the arrival of his brothers.

 _“HEY GEIR!”_ Denmark bellowed. _“WE-”_

He could clearly the picture Norway grabbing Denmark’s collar and twisting, cutting his speech off. He pulled the heavy leather belt on, got Flóki on his shoulder, and went downstairs.

Iceland’s living room looked like a Viking convention. There was Sweden in his dull brown high-neck, side-buttoning underrobe and bright blue, thickly furred overrobe; his usual not-glare making it look like he disapproved of absolutely everything around him. Denmark was, unsurprisingly, mocking him for the way he’d dyed the fur yellow, making unflattering comments about _‘wearing his flag’_. Really, he had no room to talk- he was wearing nothing but red linen and white fur and leather himself.

Norway was being helpful and poking at the fireplace with his wand, dispelling the magical blocks Geir had put in place to keep apparation to and from Wizarding Iceland out of his house.

“I have to do the last layer,” he told Norway, placing a hand on his brother’s ragged homespun cloak. Lanks of fur fell from it in a distinctly unappetizing fashion, looking ratty next to the heavy Viking gold Eiliv refused to part with and the much neater wool hood and basic tunic-pants-shoes ensemble. “Sort Ber and Matthias out.”

There was the sound of heads cracking as Norway employed his usual remedy for sibling stupidity; and then they were ready to go.

* * *

Sweden shrieked through the thick fog when they apparated into the outskirts of Wizarding Reykjavik.

“ _Geir_ I can’t _see_ anything!” Denmark yelled. “Whe _SHIT-_ ”

There was a loud splash and a lot of frantic sloshing suddenly; followed by angry Danish and Swedish.

Iceland waved his hand tiredly, sending the steam from the hot springs roiling away. His brothers climbed out of the nearest pool a little sheepishly, and with winces of pain. The water was _scalding._

Norway glared at them and the water evaporated out of their clothes. Relief washed over Matthias’s face as the cooling charm settled onto his burnt skin.

“Thanks Nor.”

“Hm.”

Geir shook his head and took a long step onto the next stone, activating the guiding enchantment. The tops of the stones, cut and regularly roughed up to provide traction, started to glow through the returning fog. His brothers followed him, constantly a couple stones behind, taking the unfamiliar route slower.

They all caught up on a wide stone platform that anchored one end of a wooden bridge.

“Where does the water go?” Norway asked as they crossed, peering over the side to see the hot springs disappearing under a gravel beach.

“Reservoir,” Iceland told him.

The fog had thinned to mist by the end of the bridge, and Wizarding Reykjavik proper appeared, the verdant green of grass atop the turf house roofs and thick moss in the walls and paving stones, clinging to the radiating heat from the citywide hypocaust system. Steam curled from vents in the gutter and pipes sticking out from the tops of the buildings.

“Forgot about these,” Denmark said, knocking a knuckle against a cluster of bronze connecting pipes as they passed. “Clever of them. Could use more of this on the Continent.”

Iceland shrugged.

“Go to Germany then. The little communities like non-magical engineering just fine.”

“Yeah, but that’s _Germany._ And they like to show off too much.”

They reached the wide market street and spent a bit of gold on steamed meat skewers from one of the stall vendors set up on one of the larger street vents, cooking over the heat of the city’s power source below. The vendor, who had been in the process of closing up, stared at the sheer amount of gold jewelry Norway had managed to incorporate into his outfit.

“Y’could stand t’be less conspicuous,” Berwald muttered.

Eiliv just gave him a haughty look and swept down the street towards the city hall.

Iceland was small, population and square footage wise. Its magical community was even smaller- tiny enough that the ten or so streets of Wizarding Reykjavik was the only magical settlement on the island beyond a few family homesteads on the interior. Reykajavik City Hall had become the national government building by default.

One of the maybe-perks of this was that everyone knew when Iceland was coming. A young wizard was rushing towards him from the building right this moment.

“LordBondevikdoyouneedanyassistance?” he- it was Fannar, there were only seven people actually employed by the Icelandic Wizarding government and that included Geir himself, who technically _was_ the government- said quickly, turning the entire sentence into one word.

“No,” Iceland replied after a moment, waiting for Fannar to catch his breath. “I’m just bringing my brothers to attend the Alþingi.”

“Taking a break from home,” Denmark added.

“Set up a few more chairs, will you?” Iceland asked, and Fannar rushed off again.

The city hall was the only building the entire settlement to not be a turf house. Its walls were the same bronze used to pipe the hot water and steam through the city, cast in solid panels depicting the history of magic on the island. They formed angles between the ancient oak trees whose spreading branches served as a roof.

The figures in the panels bowed as Iceland walked past towards the largest oak. A few made rude gestures at Norway and Denmark, who made them right back.

Iceland elected to ignore them, and dug his fingers into a seam on the oak’s trunk. He pulled; and the tree came apart with his hands, bulging outwards to form a perfectly circular opening. Geir patted the tree and whispered a ‘ _thank you’_ before bullying his brothers into going ahead of him so the door enchantment wouldn’t snap shut behind him and leave them stranded alone in the street.

Near the entire adult population of Wizarding Iceland was seated within, the regular staff’s desks stacked against the walls, benches conjured up from the floor. There was one large, low-backed chair on the opposite side of the room, all carved wood and precious inlays. Geir took his seat in it, and his brothers quickly claimed the chairs set up nearby.

“Begin,” Iceland said; and the matriarch of the largest family on the island stood up and started talking.

The Alþingi continued without much intervention on Geir’s part- he’d quiet the group when things got too loud and heated, he enforced the order of speaking, and gave rulings in debates when asked. Otherwise, he did little more than provide some commentary and important information, generally letting everyone get on with it.

The other Nations were significantly more interested. Half the time it was a little unclear what was going on- there was something about a boar hunt, and unpaid debts, and a minor issue of foreign relations to deal with- but it wasn’t the tiring roster of mundane things to worry about at the office, or politics that needed careful handling and being mindful of other’s tempers, or an international meeting. They had no real personal stake in this, so being able to _choose_ to be interested was freeing.

Eventually, everyone had their say, and the Alþingi was dismissed. Norway, Sweden, and Denmark helped Iceland unconjure the benches and float the desks and chairs back into place. The ceiling rustled where the murder of Iceland’s messenger-ravens congregated around Flóki.

“This is a nice change of pace,” Norway said after everything had been properly replaced.

“Don’t want to go home,” Denmark muttered.

“Uh-” it was Fannar again. “Mother told me earlier she would be honored to have you all for dinner?”

The Nordics exchanged looks, and mutually agreed that there was nothing more pressing in their lives than food.


End file.
